Champagne moment for Boris Johnson

The new mayor signs in with a new image as he prepares to get serious about London, write Olga Craig and Melissa Kite

There were the trademark stammers, the shambling, slightly shy gait… even a stumble as he stepped up to the podium. But Boris Johnson, London's newly elected Tory mayor, swiftly shed his gaffe-prone image yesterday to make a statesmanlike inaugural speech as he was formally sworn in to his new office.

Humour and politics have always been uncomfortable bedfellows and yesterday Mr Johnson, long lampooned as the maverick candidate, the television celebrity with an unnerving ability to say the wrong thing, was taking his new role very seriously indeed.

Though he couldn't resist the odd bon mot, Mr Johnson grabbed the opportunity to insist his priorities were those close to Londoners' hearts: zero tolerance on violent crime, affordable housing, improved bus services and a crackdown on minor crime on public transport.

Determined to stamp the Tories' mark on London, he has already drawn up a detailed timetable of policy announcements which include pouring more police on to the streets and introducing new security measures at London's underground stations.

His election as mayor has been hailed as a significant turning point for the Tories, a seismic shift in the political landscape that could herald the long-awaited resurgence of David Cameron's Conservative Party.

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Although the Prime Minister has attempted to make light of what he called Labour's "disappointing night" at the polls, in truth his party's result was a calamity – its worst performance for 40 years. It lost 331 council seats in the local elections and slumped to third place behind the Liberal Democrats, winning only 24 per cent of the vote.

Mr Brown may blame the current economic turmoil for his party's poor show. But, with Mr Johnson's resounding victory in the race for mayor, the Tories have emerged as confident – though not arrogant – combatants in the next general election.

As he emerged from the lift on to the ninth floor of City Hall yesterday to sign his declaration of acceptance, Mr Johnson looked flushed and somewhat humbled by the standing ovation and the roars of "Bor-is Bor-is" that greeted him. Flustered, he dropped his papers then scratched his head as he absent-mindedly asked the audience the date as he signed his acceptance. Then compounded his faux pas by muddling up the name of the architect responsible for City Hall's distinctive design. As he took the stage, he staggered momentarily then quipped: "Oops, another booby-trap" to a rousing reception.

But if the staff of the Greater London Authority thought they were about to witness a comic turn, Mr Johnson didn't take long to dispel the notion.

He laid out his policies succinctly and vowed to cut crime, citing the tragedy of a 15-year-old boy stabbed to death in a south London stairwell the night before. "I think this problem of kids growing up without boundaries and getting lost in tragic and self-destructive choices is the number one issue we face in this city," he said. "It is the job of me as mayor to lead the fight back against it and that is what I want to do and I hope you will all join me in doing it."

Then, turning to his new staff, he praised their hard work over the past eight years, pledging himself to uniting the authority. But he couldn't resist a veiled warning of the type of tough regime he intends to implement in City Hall, albeit delivered with a soupçon of buffoonery.

"I won't actually receive the seal of office until Sunday," he told them. "Until that time, I imagine there are shredding machines quietly puffing and panting away in various parts of the building, and quite right too," he added. "Heaven knows what we shall uncover in the course of the next few days."

There would be, he hoped, none of the "dog in the manger" behaviour that many in his party regard as endemic in the authority. "If there are any dogs in the manger," he added wryly, "I will have those dogs humanely euthanased [sic]." Although the audience laughed, there was some uneasy shifting in seats. His team has already indicated swingeing cutbacks at City Hall, where the axe will now fall on what his advisers describe as dozens of "silly jobs".

It was the culmination of a remarkable 24 hours for the Old Etonian, whose slick campaign, orchestrated by the Australian political guru Lynton Crosby, proved from day one that Mr Johnson was a contender.

The Johnson we witnessed throughout his punishing campaign was a sober, thoughtful politician who didn't play for easy laughs – or to the cameras. While some complained that they missed the cheeky-chappie, old-style Boris, Londoners proved at the ballot box that new version was the mayor they wanted.

Hitherto his problems have been a short attention span and a lack of attention to detail. Mr Crosby ensured that, barring the odd memory lapse when he didn't have up-to-date statistics to hand, Mr Johnson played to his major strength: enormous energy. He curbed, too, Mr Johnson's obvious tendency to delegate too often, insisting he wean himself away from his instinctive yearning to play to the gallery.

He also restrained Mr Johnson's all-too-easy relationship with the media, ensuring he kept "on-message" throughout his campaign. In short he presented a well-rounded candidate.

On Friday night, when his victory was announced at five minutes to midnight, Mr Johnson had been in celebratory mood. "Let's get cracking tomorrow, let's have a drink tonight," he had told his triumphant team.

They took him at his word. On the 29th floor of Millbank Tower, traditional Tories and a smattering of floppy-haired young Turks mingled among the ice sculptures to toast their success. "He's a sod, but he's a bloody effective sod," said one staff member as the guests feasted on oysters and sashimi. Mr Johnson, meanwhile, was nowhere to be seen. While his family and friends partied he was cloistered with advisers, thrashing out plans for his first week in office. He emerged only once: to claim a glass of champagne, thus ending the teetotal policy that he has maintained throughout his campaign.

Although Boris fans privately believe he will find it difficult to knuckle down to the attention to minutiae required as mayor and that his tendency for flippancy will resurface, there are no plans at Tory headquarters to let him become an uncontrollable loose cannon.

Mr Cameron knows that London is now a mini-Tory government, a test run and, more importantly, a platform from which to show the world how a future Conservative Britain might operate. Its value to the Tories is that it will provide the showcase in which to air the policies and initiatives which contrast so starkly with Gordon Brown and New Labour. Not surprisingly, then, the team chosen to circle the wagons are veteran and time-trusted Cameroons. Nicholas Boles, a close friend of the Tory leader, is Mr Johnson's chief-of-staff and a posse of press officers seconded from Tory HQ will stay with him for the foreseeable future.

Naturally Labour is hoping "New Mr Johnson", as he has dubbed himself, will soon revert to Old Boris. That before long he will become the liability they predicted. Many among its ranks see his Old Etonian image and his privileged background as his Achilles heel. The extravagant victory party with its soaring ice sculptures and free-flowing champagne will have given them a few sparse crumbs of comfort.

Perhaps with that in mind, this weekend Mr Johnson's family and friends insisted upon playing up his "bloke" credentials. His father, Stanley, who remains on the list of possible candidates for the safe Henley seat his son must now vacate, was particularly scathing of critics who persist in referring constantly to Boris's "elitist" background.

"I'm not trying to pretend one's origins are totally humble, but the idea he represents champagne, caviar and oysters is total nonsense," he said. "He wouldn't have 53.2 per cent of the vote in London if that were so.

"If you actually look at the line up of the candidates, if you want to play the multi-­cultural card, Boris has certainly got that. There's his Turkish ancestry, there's French, there's English, there's Swiss. There's even some Jewish ancestry on his mother's side.

"He attended Primrose Hill primary school when it was a great deal rougher than it is now. It wasn't the Mecca for the upper classes when he was growing up in Camden. You can throw Eton against him but I sent him to Eton because it's a very fine school and I think the proof of that is what happened on Friday night."

As for Boris, even he seems a little confused by his new-found mature identity. "This is the existential question that everyone keeps posing and it is driving me slightly nuts," he said with a characteristic scratch of his unruly hair.

"There is no discontinuity between old Boris and new Boris. I reserve the right to say exactly what I think in the way I want to say it"